Mistress of Justice

lurking in her bloodstream. This resuscitation was not pleasant. “Thom Sebastian.”
    She explained to him about cross-referencing the computer key entries and the time sheets.
    “Brilliant,” he told her, lifting an eyebrow.
    She nodded noncommittally and downed two more Advils.
    “Sebastian?” Reece pondered. “In the corporate group, right? He’s done work for New Amsterdam in the past. Hemight even’ve done some of the work on the original loan to Hanover. But what’s his motive? Money?”
    “Revenge. He was passed over for partner.”
    “Ouch.” Sympathy crept into Reece’s face, which revealed the fatigue-dulled skin and damp red eyes that Taylor knew matched hers. Still, his suit of textured charcoal wool was perfectly pressed and his shirt was as smooth and white as the starched napkin that lay across his lap. His dark hair was combed back, slick and smooth from either a recent shower or some lotion. He sat comfortably upright at the table and ate hungrily.
    Taylor braved the toast again and managed to eat a small piece. “And he acted real odd about something. He’s got a quote project going on with somebody nicknamed Bosk. Another lawyer here in town, young kid. But he wouldn’t talk about it. He also claims he was in a club on Saturday but the bartender there said he wasn’t. He left about one. I asked Sebastian about it and he claims Ralph Dudley took his computer door key.”
    “Old Man Dudley? Working on Sunday at one-thirty? No way. Past his bedtime.” Reece then reconsidered. “Funny, though, I heard Dudley had money problems. He’s borrowed big against his partnership equity.”
    Taylor said, “How’d you find that out?” The individual partners’ financial situations were closely guarded secrets.
    As if citing an immutable rule of physics Reece said,
“Always
know the successful partners from the losers.”
    “I’ll check out Dudley today.”
    “I can’t imagine he was in the firm on legitimate business. Dudley hasn’t worked a weekend in his life. But I also can’t see him as our thief. He’s such a bumbler. And he’s got that granddaughter of his he’s looking after. I don’t see how he’d risk going to jail and leaving her alone. She doesn’t have any other family.”
    “That cute little girl he brought to the outing last year? She’s about sixteen?”
    “I heard that Dudley’s son abandoned her or something.Anyway, she’s in boarding school in town and he takes care of her.” He laughed. “Kids. I can’t imagine them.”
    Taylor asked, “You don’t have any?”
    He grew wistful for a few seconds. “No. I thought I would once.” The stoic lawyer’s facade returned immediately. “But my wife wasn’t so inclined. And, after all, it does take two, you know.”
    “When I hit thirty-eight I’m going to find a genetically acceptable man, get pregnant and send him on his way.”
    “You could always try marriage, of course.”
    “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard about that.”
    He looked at her eyes for a moment then started laughing.
    She asked, “What?”
    “I was thinking, we should start a group.”
    “What?”
    “The Visine Club,” he said.
    “I can get by with seven hours’ sleep. Less than that, no way.”
    Reece said, “Five’s pretty much standard for me.” He finished the bacon and held a forkful of eggs toward her. She smiled, fought down the nausea and shook her head. She noticed, behind the bar, a stack of wine bottles and felt her stomach twist. Reece ate some of his breakfast and asked, “Where you from?”
    “Burbs of D.C. Chevy Chase in Maryland. Well, I was born on Long Island but my parents moved to Maryland when I was in middle school. My father got a job in the District.”
    “Oh, I read that article in the
Post
about him last month. His argument before the Supreme Court.”
    “Tell me about it,” she grumbled. “I’ve heard the blow-by-blow a half-dozen times. He overnighted me a copy of his argument. For my leisure-time reading, I guess.”
    “So how’d you end up on Wall Street?” Reece asked.
    “Very long story,” she said with a tone that told him that this was not the time or place to share it.
    “School?
    “Dartmouth … music and poly sci.”
    “Music?”
    “I play piano. Jazz mostly.”
    This seemed to intrigue him. He asked, “Who do you listen to?”
    “Billy Taylor’s my fave, I guess. But there’s something about the fifties and sixties. Cal Tjader, Desmond, Brubeck.”
    Reece shook his head.